


Sunset

by Milieu



Series: A Game of Beautiful Madness [1]
Category: Changeling: The Lost, World of Darkness (Games)
Genre: Changelings, Gen, Gothic, Trans Female Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-29
Updated: 2017-04-29
Packaged: 2018-10-25 09:45:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10761702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Milieu/pseuds/Milieu
Summary: An encounter on a dark street.





	Sunset

Walking home wasn’t always this creepy, was it?

Timothy, or T-Mack, as he mostly-unsuccessfully tried to get his friends to call him, was pretty sure the way home wasn’t normally this creepy. Okay, true, he was a little drunk right now. More than a little. And Alex, the dick, had split before the party was over because he was “tired” or “had to study” or something, so T-Mack was walking back to their apartment complex all by his lonesome.

And like, it wasn’t like he was a pussy or anything. He was nearly twenty-five, a grown-ass man, and he could walk home in the dark without getting all hysterical. Just… the shadows seemed a bit longer tonight, the sounds of traffic on the highway in the distance a bit more muted, the air a bit more tense.

He didn’t realize just how spooked he’d gotten until a shadow peeled away from the trees lining the sidewalk in front of him and he nearly shrieked like a little girl.

Immediately after, though, the shadow came into focus and T-Mack felt like an idiot. Immediately after _that_ , he was confused and more than a touch put off again.

‘Cause see, the thing was, until she stepped out in front of him again, he’d completely forgotten about her.

She’d been at the party – or just outside the party, more accurately. He didn’t think he’d actually seen her around the pool or the snack table the whole night, and you’d kinda remember someone who looked like that. He’d stumbled off into the side garden to hurl into the bushes after downing tequila shots a little too fast at the behest of some of his classmates, and when he looked she’d just – _been_ there.

He’d been too sloshed already to really decipher her expression but if he’d been sober, he might have compared it with the way his mom had sometimes looked before crushing a spider or some other vermin that had dared to invade her spotless house.

He’d also been too sloshed to say anything witty to the strange, ethereal chick suddenly standing before him so he’d just attempted a grin and slurred, “Halloween ain’t for a couple months.” (What was she going for, anyway – life-size creepy doll? Classy Victorian axe murderer? Flower ghost? And what was with the eyepatch?) She was supposed to laugh, or maybe say something actually witty back, like, “Halloween is always, bitch” and then invite him to make out with her in the bushes like those weird goth chicks sometimes did, but she didn’t do any of those things. Her expression barely changed.

“Your friend doesn’t seem to be having a very good time,” she said, and something in him recoiled at the sound of her voice but he couldn’t place why.

“Huh?” He said dumbly, “Who, Alex? He never has a good time.” The words were slurred out before he thought about them.

If he’d been more aware, he might have noticed the way she seemed to cringe. Instead, he was occupied with the monumental task of trying to get his feet stead under him again so he could stumble his way back to the party and maybe ask who’d lost their creepy girlfriend in the garden. Actually… “You a friend of Alex’s? Always knew he was into freaky stuff, I’ve seen that junk he’s got hidden in the back of his closet, _wee-gee_ boards ‘n shit…” T-Mack trailed off, nodding sagely to himself and swaying slightly. Her frown had gradually deepened as he rambled.

“You,” she said slowly, with the air of a long-suffering saint, “are disgustingly drunk.”

And then she took him by the elbow and hauled him out of the shadows around the side of the house and thrust him back in the direction of the party. By the time he’d recovered his bearings once again, he barely remembered the strange encounter in the garden.

But here she was again, stepping out of the shadows in front of him, and drunk as he was, he couldn’t ignore the creeping dread in the pit of his stomach as she approached. She really did look like a doll, he thought, one of those antique china dolls his sister got for Christmas every year from their grandmother. She smelled like the garden had, or maybe the garden had been filled with her scent and he hadn’t realized. It was flowery, overpowering.

For a moment, she almost seemed like she was going to walk right past him with barely a glance, and he’d just be left there on the sidewalk with his confused almost-fear and fuzzy memories of a woman with flowers in her hair.

Instead, she stopped right next to him, continuing to look straight ahead. He couldn’t breathe in without taking in the scent of her, wild and overly sweet with a faint tang of decay lurking underneath. She had one of those fancy umbrellas on one shoulder even though it had to be something like two in the morning now and the only light came from the streetlamps. Instead of looking directly at her, he followed the umbrella’s ribbon trim with his eyes as it lazily spun while she seemed to consider something.

“You’re not going to remember this tomorrow,” she said finally, with an air of decision. He couldn’t bring himself to respond one way or the other. “Tell me about your friend. You _are_ friends, aren’t you?”

Dumbfounded, he stuttered. “A-Alex? What-“ And then he looked at her, really _saw_ her for the first time, and the words died in his throat as he struggled to put the pieces together in any picture that wasn’t just objectively _wrong_.

By the time his brain had gotten in touch with his feet and put forth the suggestion that he ought to run, she’d reached forward and gripped his face, forcibly turning him to look at her straight on. Her skin was bloodless and cold.

“Yes,” she said in a clipped, measured tone. “Tell me about _Alex_.”

Her grip tightened, nails digging into his cheeks and chin. A bead of blood dropped onto the collar of his shirt, and he whimpered.

“And don’t make me ask twice.”

**Author's Note:**

> I remembered I had this sitting in my files from a CtL campaign that never ended up happening, as a sort of proof of concept for my Darkling Leechfinger/Skogsra gal and her fetch. I was pretty attached to her concept, so she and some other pals are likely to appear in the future. Sunset is her name.


End file.
